Numbers

Upon opening the metal gate at the side of my cell, I found that it was impossible to leave behind the scene I had witnessed seconds ago. My young and bruised body was pulled back unwillingly into the same muddy and thick pool of foul-smelling liquid again. It splashed against my bare back, renewing the bloodstains I had gotten during the skirmish earlier. Watching involuntarily at what was going on, feeling lost not knowing how to stop it.

I was sticky from the grime and felt extremely cold from the wind that swept inside through the cracks of the walls. But whatever the nuisance, I couldn’t complain about it. With the metal mask around my jaw and locked onto the back of my head, my mouth was shut in one place.

And even if I could have been able to scream or talk, to ask for something, anything, I would be punished because of it.

My hands landed on the chest of my currently dead cellmate that had suffered the consequence for stealing more food. It wasn’t much and I wasn’t there when he stole it, but the jailor said it was a straw of food, that’s all it was... He was killed over getting a second portion of food, a rotten mix of minerals and vitamins, pushed inside a thin straw which fitted just through the gap in the front of our masks. Well, he doesn’t have the chance to steal another one I guess.

My friendly jailor picked me up again to throw me against the wall that was next to me, but I didn’t care. All I saw were the bloodstained eyes of my silent friend, still open, looking lifeless towards me.

“Did you hear me?!” The jailor yelled while pushing my shoulders against the wall this time.

But I blocked his annoying rumbling voice. I realized it doesn’t matter what will happen to me, but it took me to see the dead body in front of me to understand that it truly doesn’t matter what we do. We will die in here anyway.

That’s what Twenty-three, my dead friend, told me a million times over. Of course, talking is not possible, but we had come up with a sign-language, so we could understand each other by talking with our hands.

None of us knew our own names, as we were chemically torn from our past the moment we had been dragged into this hell hole. So instead, we went by our numbered tattoos. These tattoos were placed on the inside of our right hand so that every time we did something, like eating or using sign language we would see the infected wound and be reminded of the place we were in. And I do not mean the actual place, as we all know somehow that we are at Cendrix Palace, but I mean the place in the rankings.

The ranking board was depicting our life and created a foul purpose for us to at least have something to do here. To focus on something else besides being captured and forced to continue our lives here.

Ah, there it is…

The pain that I was waiting for.

I opened my right hand, concluding that my rating just went up from Twenty-five to Twenty-four. The chemical burn that scarred across, was reddening my skin and I knew that it would blister and get infected the next day. Sighing, I folded my hand again and forced myself to look away from my dead friend.

This was not how I wanted to climb up the ladder, but this is how things work down here. And even though I don’t know the reason behind it, I have this constant feeling that I have to become number One somehow. And it also seems that my urge to reach that goal is considerably larger than others.

Some have spent months, years even, in this ‘palace’ but remain in the hundreds, instead of climbing up to the tens not having the motivation for it. Yet, here I am, a new victim, getting through the numbers like smelting ice that dripped from the walls as soon as one of the suns came back up again.

It has only been four weeks, and I’m above the thirties right now, after starting below the thousands...

The jailor stood up to leave our cell, dragging former Twenty-three with him. He was now -what we call- a lost number.

“You okay?” Sixty-nine asked me, using his flat hand to touch his chest.

His ranking didn’t change, so no change in name either. It’s hard to explain how the rankings change, as it’s not only when someone dies. No, because that would mean thousands of people would have been dead, just for me to reach Twenty-four now, which would be brutal.

Of course, everything about being here is brutal, but you might know what I mean. No, there are plenty of other tactics and abilities you can use to climb up the ladder.

I looked up, waiting for the massive gears to rotate just enough to peek through them, to see the Gazers. That’s what we called them, the camera’s and thus also the people that were behind them. We were their playthings in a dangerous game.

The Gazers rated our progression up the ladder by everything we did. For example, I lost some points as I tried to get out of my cell after my friend got killed, but because I’m close to number One, they have no other choice than to put me up a level because Twenty-three is lost and someone has to fill in the gaps.

Looking towards Sixty-nine again, I put my hand on my chest to acknowledge him and tell him I was fine, even though I was far from it right now. But there wasn’t any space for luxurious moments like being sad or taking a rest in here.

Suddenly, even though the gears above us made a lot of grinding noise, I heard soft slurping sounds on the other side of me, together with the sight of a happy smirk that gleefully emptied the straw inside his mouth through the small gap in front of his metal lock.

I had to blink for a moment to realize what this picture meant to me, and yet somehow in that same moment, I knew exactly what had happened. Former Twenty-four, now Twenty-three, was the one that had stolen the straw and not my lost friend! I knew, because it wasn’t feeding time yet, and anyone who got a straw immediately devoured it upon receiving. So, there was no other explanation...

Standing up from my spot, I charge my way to him ready to kill him, wanting to put my hands around his neck and push his trachea down as hard as I could until I could feel it crack underneath my fingertips. He should be afraid, he should be wanting to crawl inside one of the cracks of the walls... but instead... he lazily threw away the emptied straw and smiled. The asshole smiled!

“Look up.” He signed, right as I was about to do what I wanted to.

Confused, I stopped and did look up, only to notice that the ever-turning gears had stopped exactly at the time where the window from upstairs was focused on our cell. The Gazers were trying to see what I would do with the information that Twenty-three stole the straw and not the lost number.

This could turn out in two ways, either I do choose to kill Twenty-three, or I decide to let it go... Either decision is difficult, always, because it’s the Gazers who decide how many points go to which decision. And the amount of points is never the same... Funny, right?

But at this moment, I didn’t care. If I lost my points I would get them back later. Now it is time for some payback, because I hate it that my lost friend got killed over something he didn’t do.

“You think I care about the points right now?” I signed while nearly frothing from my mouth.

“You should.” He replied. “Two-twenty.” He signed with his hand and I knew what he was talking about.

Two-hundred-twenty, easily signed as two-two-zero, was the notorious number that belonged to the one that has no eagerness in leaving this place anytime soon. He has managed to use information as a currency and has surrounded himself with a small army of fifties which he uses as a measure to get what he wants. Besides, he has the favour of the Gazers. How he ever got it, no one knows, but some could suggest he sells information he got from the Numbers to them, to get more food instead.

What the Gazers do with the information, I don’t know. But when you are on Two-twenty’s wishing list, to find information about, you are basically a dead man walking. Several Numbers have been killed over simple rumours and I know that the closer you get to number One, the more dangerous it will be.

Two-twenty has the power to a lot of things inside here, and I’d have to be on alert at all times to at least be able to defend myself in case of being targeted by one of his soldiers.

But I knew this already, and I am always on alert, so I smiled. And the broader my smile, the bigger Twenty-three’s eyes got.

“You think you have some form of leverage over me?” I asked him.

“He will kill you!” He answered desperately, losing the ability to stay calm and reserved.

“He can try.” I said while reaching for his neck...